The battle raged.
It had come down to this. Good and evil battling for the reign of the magical world in the little town of Hogsmeade, in clear view of the hilly Hogwarts grounds. The usually green, mossy hillocks were now covered in splotches of colors; white sheets, dead and dying people, students from the school doing their best to save those they could, and to ease the passage of those they couldn't.
Even the tiny first years were out there. Things a child should never have to see, they were now treating, touching, attempting to heal. No one had asked them to do this; in fact, all students under seventh year had been expressly forbidden to leave the confines of the castle. As soon as backs were turned, however, students laden with potions and sheet and pillows filed out onto the hillsides, the older and stronger students venturing out onto the battlefield to pull the injured to safety.
And while Ginny knew that this was a very good way to offer services, it definitely wouldn't satisfy her.
Immediately she's stood to offer her magic. As a sixth year, she'd immediately been brushed aside by Fudge, and told that she was being silly, and why would she risk her life?
"Because my whole family is out there. My mother, my father and my six brothers, my best friend... If I'm not there to help them, I'll never forgive myself."
Dumbledore stepped in and held up his hand. "You may go," he told her. "And I'm sure you're aware of the risk."
"I am," she said.
A burly Auror grasped her upper arm tightly and led her out into the Entrance Hall. It was packed full, every Seventh year and Aurors and teachers and parents, all preparing to fight. She was led over to a group wearing bright red cloaks, trimmed in golden thread.
"The Order of the Phoenix wishes for your services, Miss Weasley," he said gruffly, releasing her arm. They turned to look at her. Her mothers' eyes filled immediately with tears, and she was engulfed by nearly all of them. They held her tightly, telling her how beautiful she was, how brave, how proud they were of her. She blinked repetitively to fight off her tears. They released her to go up towards the doors; The Order of the Phoenix was to lead them into their final battle. She stood back, next to him, as he glared at her.
"I told you to stay behind," he murmered. She threw his arms around him and he pulled her close, smoothing her hair, burying his face in the crook of her neck. How could he have left her to begin with? He left her to protect her, so she wouldn't follow him into almost certain death.
"You weren't supposed to follow me. You know why I left you."
"Fat lot of good it did you, you snide prat." But she ran her fingertips down his back and bit her lip uncertainly.
"I love you..." she whispered, afraid of the impact the words might have on him.
"Gods, Ginny..." he muttered. "I love you."
"Harry!" Ron cried from the front. "Move out!"
Harry took both of Ginny's hands in his and stepped close, gazing down into her eyes.
"Marry me when we come back," he pleaded, searching her eyes for an answer.
"I will," she said, and Ron bodily pulled him to the front doors.
She descended the steps arm in arm with her best friend. They silently walked towards the gates of the Hogwarts' grounds, where hundreds of masked figures stood menacingly. Ginny risked a glance up at Hermione.
Her eyes were empty, save for the malice for the people who killed her parents.
She didn't know quite when the Order of the Phoenix seemed to disband to protect various other people. She caught a brief glance of Ron, Hermione, Tonks, Remus, Moody, and at least four others circling Harry, reflecting curses and striking Death Eaters dead as they shifted their way over to a ghostly white figure. She stared, entranced, by Tom. He was easily glancing off spells and curses; they seemed to refract right off of him. He moved with serpentine grace, his red eyes glowing with pure hatred.
He sensed her staring.
'Ginevra Weasley,' said Tom's voice inside her head, as it had before in her first year. 'We meet again.'
She found herself spinning, falling. She was spiralling. On the cold stone floor, Tom gazing into her eyes and running his chilled fingers down her cheek... his elegant writing, reassuring her. The blood, the basilisk, the roosters, the fear...
She shook herself.
It wasn't her Tom.
Tom's voice was calm, low, oftentimes gentle when he spoke to her. This voice was shrill and high, inhumane.
Come to me... he whispered to her.
No.
His eyes narrowed further, if it was at all possible. He took in the sight of her quickly, his eyes roving over her body. She wasn't tall, and she wasn't short. She'd filled out wonderfully, and he could see the white cotton of her school shirt and the scarlet and gold tie from the singed hole in her robes.. Her hair was long and brushed her lower back, and the beautiful color seemed to make the flames exploding around her cower with embarassment and shame. Even her eyes... he hadn't expected this. He'd expected the feelings she felt for Tom... not this... this... hatred. He swallowed and licked his lips with her serpentine tongue.
What did you say, child?
I said no. Never. She held her chin high in defiance, looking at him through her lashes, her wand gripped in her fist.
You belong to me! He bellowed in her mind. She glared at him, angrily. This thing... had killed so much that she held dear. She'd promised herself never to use this curse, but now... she summoned it all. Every insult, every tear. She felt the hatred building behind her eyes, and raised her wand, but before the curse could leave her lips --
A Slicing Curse, straight from the Dark Lord himself, slashed her through the middle.
She fell. Her breathing shallow, with each beat or her heart, less and less blood came forth form her gash. It felt as though there was a great pressure on her chest, and it took great exertion to draw breath. She drew air into her lungs, shaky, shallow, and painful.
She knew it was her final breath.
She held it in as long as she could, trying to take in her surroundings through her blurry vision. The sky was black with smoke, empty and hopeless. The cobblestones were sticky and wet with scarlet blood, and she seemed to be lying in a rather large puddle of her own. She choked a sob and blinked, the tear drops trailing slowly down her cheeks, the heat of them creating a red line along her pale, clammy skin.
Hearing a triumphant yelp, she shifted her head to the right.
And saw the figure of Lord Voldemort crumple to the ground, dead.
Harry had won.
She'd always had faith in him.
Allowing a tremulous smile, she faced the sky, closed her teary eyes...
and exhaled.